Lance: Zero Gravity
by SmallShadowyBirds
Summary: The War against the Galra Empire is over, Voltron and the five Lions are honored as heroes throughout the world, and everyone is doing just fine. Snuffing out secret baddies should be their only issue, and even that's supposed to be easy. After the Empire was defeated, Lance was hoping to have more free time than he'd know what to do with, but of course, he's never that lucky.
1. put your helmet on

**VOLTRON SOLO SERIES: VOLUME 1**  
 **LANCE: ZERO GRAVITY**

 _The GALRA EMPIRE is finished._  
 _With their defeat, following_  
 _soldiers have been forced to_  
 _retreat into disclosed groups_  
 _under the radar of VOLTRON,_  
 _the hope of countless worlds._  
 _These soldiers hide in shadow,_  
 _biding materials and time,_  
 _until the day they may strike._

 _Our heroes, the FIVE LIONS,_  
 _bravely defend and maintain_  
 _peace in the new world._  
 _With the support of the_  
 _general public, they track the_  
 _last of the resistors, to_  
 _ensure they do not rise again._

 _Shiro, former leader of Voltron,_  
 _has been captured by a MERCENARY_  
 _SHIP full of Galra sympathizers._  
 _The Lions, desperate to free their_  
 _friend, have staged an attack on_  
 _the ship to retrieve him..._

* * *

 **Lance: Zero Gravity**

 **i. put your helmets on**

* * *

During missions like these, Lance always wonders why the bad guys take the hard way out of everything. Because this wasn't meant to be a hard mission.

When Shiro first brought it up, it was simple: go up, talk to the mercenaries, confiscate the weapons they were delivering to defeated Galra battalions, go home. And now that the whole Galra war business was over, Lance could return to his comfy bed, blast some music, and lie undisturbed for the rest of the night.

The leaders of the ship were supposed to be self-preserving mercenaries trying to make a few space dollars, not Galra and Galra sympathizers. Shiro wasn't supposed to get captured. The rest of them weren't supposed to narrowly escape with their lives, and they weren't supposed to stage a Voltron attack on a ship to get their leader back.

Keith's voice snaps Lance's mind back to reality. "Lance, are you seeing any fleets exiting any of the mercs?"

Lance stops his internal grumbling for a second to survey the area. The enemy cannons shoot at them non-stop and tenfold, but that's what makes it even weirder: other than the mercenary ships, there are no internal fighters that come out to greet them. The behaviour is typical for a carrier, with no real defense other than maybe a particle barrier, but during their brief period exploring the ship, Lance had counted fighters aplenty. He squints one more time, just to make sure his eyesight isn't going bad, but then calls back, "I'm not seeing anything."

"That's weird," Keith mutters half to himself, though it sums up Lance's thoughts pretty succinctly.

Lance's mind jumps from possibility to possibility as he does his best to dodge incoming attacks, but his hypothesizing takes the back burner in favour of staying alive. Luckily for him, despite where his loyalty truly lay, the Red Lion felt far smoother than Blue when it came to agility in general, and he skirts around them with less grace than Keith would've, but enough to keep him alive.

"The prison stronghold is in that ship." Pidge points out.

Lance's screen immediately creates a target that zooms and enhances the mentioned carrier in the corner of his dashboard in a light blue—no, red outline. It's a smaller ship, but heavily guarded. After learning just who they were up against, it seemed that not even a group of low-grade mercenaries wanted to take a hostage against Voltron lightly.

His mind jumps to the answer even before Keith can speak.

Even though they've located where Shiro is, they're still going to need to go and fish him out. Then, there are four lions, so Shiro's going to need to hitch a ride in one of theirs, and it isn't like all four of them can go in. The carrier isn't large enough, and it leaves the lions undefended. Keith would normally be their guy for inside work, but right now, Keith is a leader. He needs to be hyper-aware of the Lions in case something goes wrong, as an ace flyer and a leader, and the best way to do that isn't to have him rush into battle. In fact, the best answer is obvious.

When Keith's voice does carry over, it's after a long, hesitant pause, and even Lance can read how tentative and uncertain he sounds.

"I think I have a plan."

Lance smiles to himself, because he knows Keith is itching to run in himself, guns ablazing, to grab Shiro and to hell with the rest. The responsibility of the Black Lion weighs on Keith, and while the former Red Paladin doesn't seem to enjoy it, he accepts it. Keith pauses, choosing his words carefully. "We're going to need… someone to get in and out, fast."

"I'll do it," Lance says.

It isn't that he wants to. Oh, he would love nothing more than to be the one out back, diverting the attention of random fire, shooting a bunch of smaller ships down. But he knows Keith doesn't want to say it—he doesn't want to condemn anyone other than himself to any kind of risk, because that isn't how it worked with Shiro. But Lance—no, the Red Lion—is the best for the job, and Keith isn't stupid enough not to see it. Maybe it's because Keith's been with Red for so long that he knows.

Keith's reply confirms Lance's idea, and he asks, "Are you sure about this, Lance?" After another, shorter pause, he interjects himself with another less tactful idea, "I could go in, instead."

Lance would love nothing better than to come up with a quippy, self-assured response, but his heart won't stop thumping and even his smile, which he'd been using to comfort himself more than others, wavers. "The Black Lion should be out here, helping with a bit of everything." Lance explains, knowing Keith's already thought it up.

It doesn't make anything easier.

"I'll be fine," Lance replies, contrary to his beliefs. He tries to ignore the way his stomach flips and churns, because it's probably just the effects of zero gravity and is a symptom completely unrelated to the way his hands grip firmly on the controls, wrapping around the metal as his thumbs determinedly situate themselves to accelerate. "What, think I can't do it?" Lance asks, feigning boastfulness but listening intently for a word of denial to take solace in.

Instead of acceptance or denial, Keith's answers, "Just be careful." Quickly, he directs the others, "Pidge can guide you through once he's in. Hunk can help defend the Lion once you're inside, and Allura can fly out and take out the ships that are firing from a distance."

Lance, rightfully surprised by Keith's comment, is slightly more comforted by Hunk's enthusiastic, "Don't worry, I'll watch your back!"

Lance gives a nervous grin to himself and then engages with Red. If Blue felt like a catfish swimming through water, the Red Lion feels like a panther. Each jolt brings him closer as the Red Lion claws through as many ships as it can. It feels rough but deliberate, resolute but cautious. It felt like the bounding of a panther from one patch of land to another, edging closer to its prey. And if nothing else, the metaphor in Lance's head made _him_ feel a little more badass.

It takes him no time at all to reach the ship, and he uses the heat blasters from Red to carve an opening through. He sticks Red's head through the freshly gaping hole, opening the maw of his beast to jump into the jaw of another.

His hand grips the gun tightly as he exits the ship through Red's mouth, and his first objective is to get as far away—or as hidden—as he can. The ship's interior is decorated in dark colours (like every other bad guy ship ever) but it lacks the purple signature light on Galra ships. It makes it easier to hide, but easier for enemies to come blasting out of nowhere like a horror movie. Along with it's differences, the ship is also much more run-down. Visible pipes and wires run along the sides of the walls, and even the interstellar insulation shows through the wall. Electricity runs, but there are wires sticking up all over the place, and sparks fly from them. With all the boxes on the floor, along with how shaky the ground is with what's going on outside, Lance has to be cautious.

He opts for turning the first corner he sees, but is quickly told that it's the wrong decision as he hears voices down the hall, shouting at each other. Going backwards to an unsafe location in a mission is always a bad idea, and he takes a quick nosedive towards the nearest boxes, clutching his gun closely to his chest.

 _It's fine, Lance, don't worry._ Lance thought to himself. _It's nothing you haven't done a million times over, back as a space cadet. Sneaking past guards is no biggie._

Lance takes a deep breath to calm himself, but another voice in his head interrupts him, answering his bouts of reassurance with an unsympathetic, _Yeah, sure, except you don't know this ship inside out and a mistake means they're probably gonna blast more holes in you than a slice of swiss cheese, and that means Shiro's doomed too because you couldn't do it, you couldn't save him, and everyone's morale will be down and Keith will think he's a terrible leader for sending you in and everyone will think you just couldn't do it and they'd be right but it'll basically be all your fault._

 _You_ really _need to shut up_ , Lance thought back at it.

 _I'm just trying to be realistic,_ the voice that needs to shut up replied.

When the thumping footsteps of the guards get close, Lance shrivels into himself as best as he can, inhaling sharply and holding his breath for extra invisibility. The guards pass right by him, and he catches sight of their backs as they run off. Like most haphazardly-strewn mercenaries, they don't belong to a single race. He briefly notes a Krie alien, Longor alien, and Palarian alien amongst the passing group of sentries. He breathes out an exaggerated sigh of relief as they round the corner to check out his closed-off Lion.

Keith's voice over his communicator is almost comforting, as serious and worried as it sounds. "Lance. Are you in?"

Barely above a whisper, Lance looks around to check for guards hearing his voice. When he determines the coast is clear, he replies, "Yeah, I am."

Pidge chips in this time. "Okay, you're going to need to go two halls down and then three to the right."

"My left or your left?" Lance asks, cautiously.

Instead of reassuring him, Pidge sounds exasperated and replies with her usual you're-an-idiot tone, "We have the same left, Lance."

In retrospect, Lance cringes, because Keith would never have had to ask that question if he were in, but he wasn't exactly in the place to be worrying about comparisons. He ran down the corridor, turning the corner at every out-of-place sound. His caution was necessary, though, as nine out of ten times the sounds are passing sentries.

When he turns the last left, he catches an insane amount of guards and has to stifle his own surprised yelp as he cuts his momentum off to jump back behind the wall. He counts at least fifteen, all in the same place.

Quickly and anxiously, he whisper-shouts at Pidge, "There is no _way_ I can get through this hall. There's a ton of armed guards."

He doesn't hear back from Pidge for a bit, but her voice does come back to him, eventually. "I can't see another option. You're going to have to figure out a way through."

Lance grimaces, uncertain. If he were a little more skilled, he could just run in, sword in hand, like some knight of the round table. But Lance isn't stupid enough to think he can take them on all at once, and especially not with the Altean Broad Sword.

He looks around, and sees no guards, obviously, since it seems they've all stockpiled in the corridor. However, while he looks around, his eyes fall onto the boxes next to him. He looks at its packaging, and as he bends over, he catches the white label.

 _con, Unit 525. To N. Tron. Extreme Light Emission, May Cause Blindness._

Lance praises every deity he can think of for the label being in English out of all things, because while the contents of the box certainly don't contain what he _needs_ , it's _something_ that he can make do with. He surveys the scene a little more and sees the light up above, almost metaphorically popping above his head as the idea takes form of a grin on his face.

The guards stand idly until they hear a nearby crash. Along with the sound, the light in the hallway goes out. Many of them immediately put up their weapons, assault rifles turned towards the darkness in the hall.

They look back and forth between each other until a guard in the front motions for a few others to go forward with them. Their rifles have a small flashlight on them to view the general proximity in front of them, and they stalk out into the darkness.

As they look around, they see nothing out of the ordinary, and one of them even begins to ask a doubtful, "Just a bad bulb?"

The guard beside them isn't convinced though, as his light scans over the fallen lightbulb. He finds it odd that the string is still attached to it, and the broken end looks cleanly cut. He turns to look around, and notices an open box, too. Beside it is even stranger, as he catches a small tuft of brown hair sticking up from behind the—

Before he can finish the thought, a brilliant strobe light explodes, and surprised yells are heard from the guards caught in the blast. Lance imagines it's something like walking out of a long movie at the theater, where you are temporarily blinded, except that he might have actually blinded them with how bright the light was. Dazed shouts are heard from the guards who had been watching intently, and the bright light fills the corridor. They don't even register the body that bursts past them, since they all knock each other around in a blind stupor.

Lance rushes past them, his paladin visor completely darkened, and he makes his way with one hand tracing the wall for guidance. Once he's an adequate distance past, he begins to laugh into his communicator, and eagerly shouts. "Did you see that, guys? Holy _cow,_ I didn't think—man, that was cool!"

"Good job, Lance," Keith says, "but don't lose track of the mission."

Lance gives a cockier laugh this time, his nerves finally calming down. "Ha! Don't tell me that wasn't the best thing I've ever done—ow!" His gloating falls short when the ship suddenly lurches, and he runs headfirst into a wall, falling back for a second. He sits up quickly and returns his visor to normal, picking up his bayard on the ground next to him. He can almost hear the eye-rolls on the other side.

"We're not retelling that part later." Lance deadpans, getting up and continuing his path.

Lance smells something strange, something burning, but before he can track what it is, Pidge speaks up. "Okay, now you're going to run by a few more doors, but you're going to need to turn left at the next intersection. After that, five corridors down you're going to have to turn at the end of the hall, and Shiro should be in the third door to your left. It's... pretty far, actually. You'll need to hurry, too. One of our attacks hit the ship, so you have around twenty minutes. You'll be passing by an infirmary, at least three storage chambers, the emergency escape…" Pidge trails off at the end.

Unfortunately, Lance isn't able to make it that far.

When he turns the first left, he manages to take a few steps before a guard appears from another intersection, like a horror movie jumpscare, and Lance doesn't have enough time to hide. The guard fires two shots. One misses, and he can hear the shot reverberate off a metal object behind him, but the other one hits him right in his shoulder pad—a fatal shot, if he hadn't dodged.

Lance grimaces, ducking behind a corner. He clutches his right shoulder, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He's got to stay silent, and keep his mouth shut for once. As he's shot, he hears his team's worried shouts and questions, but can't reply.

"Lance, are you okay?" Allura asks, her voice coming graceful and elegant over the comm, blinding him to the ripping pain in his arm for a second. He desperately wants to smile, and comebacks build up in his head— _I'm fine, princess, how're you?—Aw, are you worried for little old me?—Maybe next time, I could've gotten a kiss for good luck—_ but they fall short. He doesn't risk being discovered.

"You might've gotten past the earlier guards, but you're not going to be getting past me that easy." The guard says, and a shot skims past the corner Lance hides behind. He's got to figure another way out of this, but he didn't grab any strobe light bombs from earlier. His arm screams when he holds the sword, and he doesn't even want to imagine properly handling a rifle. His adrenaline might be able to get him through, but…

Despite what Lance thought would come through the communicator, Keith, sounding very panicked and serious, suddenly shouts, "Lance, mission's off. Get out of there, now!"

Against his better decision, Lance shouts back, "I'm fine! I can do this!"

It gives away his position unfortunately, though, and he hears the guy charge at him. He rolls out of his corner, bayard transforming into his rifle halfway through, and he manages to shoot the weapon the guard holds. The guard, successfully disarmed, lunges at Lance. While it happens, he hears the paladins shout.

"Lance, buddy? It's not about you, it's that you've just got to get off that ship, really, really fast. I know I said I'd cover you, but I… you need to get out. Shiro will… he'll be fine! But you need to get to your lion, now." Hunk says, and Lance is surprised. He wrestles the guy on top of him for his own gun.

"Get out of there, Lance." Allura confirms. "The mercenary ships have turned on their own carrier. All their cannons are pointing at the carrier, and we _cannot_ lose you—"

Just as Lance begins to understand the scenario, the guy rips Lance's helmet right off his head, rears his fist, and punches down. Lance jerks his head far enough to dodge the first one, but the other one nails him, hard. The guard tries to go in for the knockout, but is suddenly knocked out cold by a blast. Lance looks in the direction of the shot, and another guard stands, lowering the smoking gun.

Lance is confused, but the ship suddenly shakes, and the new guard runs over to Lance and grabs his hand, yanking him up.

"What—who are you?" Lance asks, still unsure whether the person is friend or foe. It isn't unusual to make allies in the least likely of places, and it seems to be the case for this alien.

He can't see their face, as they're dressed like every other guard in the ship, but they sound panicked when they say, "We've got to get you out of here. This ship is going down—they're going to kill us, all of us."

Lance furrows his eyebrows, but the alien stops in front of a panel, and quickly enters a four-digit code. The door slides open, revealing an escape pod, and the alien shuts Lance in.

"What—why are you helping me?" Lance asks them as they fuddle with the controls, trying to enter the coordinates with shaky hands.

"I… I didn't know, I didn't think—I am _not_ going to be the reason for Voltron's destruction." They say, shakily and panicked. "I've spent my entire life… I'm not… with this, Voltron _will_ survive, I'm not going to be a part of…"

He isn't sure what they're trying to say, but somehow, he knows they're sacrificing a lot for his own life. He suddenly shouts, "Wait, no! I have to get my friend, the Black Paladin! His name is Shiro, white hair, scar across his nose, the _leader_ of Voltron!"

Both of them hear a crash behind the alien, and he sees the alien stop entering coordinates. The alien presses their helmet against the glass of Lance's pod, hand resting on top of it, defeated. Their voice is shaky, and so full of despair that Lance immediately knew it would haunt him for a long time. Their voice cracks as they say, "I'm too late."

As they give their—what Lance comes to realize, _final_ words—he sees an explosion bursting down the hall.

A lot of things happen very quickly. The alien sends him a small, hopeful smile before they're engulfed in flame, and Lance barely has time to register the explosion and duck below before it hits, incredulous force and heat slamming against the side of his pod.

He's launched with more force than he's ever used to ride the Blue or Red Lion, and his unprotected head hits the other end of the ship. Lance sees stars fly by out the window, like a million water striders streaking across the surface of a pond, tracing long white stripes across the night sky.

He thinks, for his final moment of lucidity, _Looks like I messed up after all,_ and then blacks out.

* * *

 **Yes, the chapter titles correspond to Space Oddity lyrics. I felt it was fitting. Also, the beginning of the chapter was supposed to imitate the Opening Crawl in Star Wars. This is the only time you'll see it, though, so cherish it should you enjoy it.**

 **So the 'universe' is the same, but different, yeah? Basically, it takes place after the Galra War is over, and all six paladins are considered members of Voltron (with Shiro, Keith, and Lance alternating positions). That being said, just like Germany after the war, it's illegal for the Galra to rebuild their army, but there are always people still trying. That's why they were on the mission-they were trying to stop the mercenaries, thinking that they were just doing the job they were paid for, but it turns out the leaders were pro-Galra. Although it's being written like a Post S8 fic, I'm actually writing this at the end of season 7, so. Can't promise any accuracy.**

 **I may or may not have made this because I wanted each character to get a little more appreciation/development, Lance especially being one of them. I almost titled it a character study for that reason, honestly. They kinda did some characters dirty. I want to write this with a Lance-ish vibe, where it's funny and adventurous and heroic and everything we didn't get in the main series (at least... so far). It'd be nice if I could write a piece that people could see being canon + a recommendation. I'm also planning on adding other characters to the Solo Series, but I'm not sure who should be next. I'd love to hear your suggestions!**

 **Hope you enjoy! I'm looking forward to hearing thoughts/comments/ideas in the story. I like it so far, and I've got a wild ride to write. Feel free to comment!**

 **(Crossposted on AO3)**

 **#SSB**


	2. time to leave the capsule if you dare

**Lance: Zero Gravity**

 **ii. it's time to leave the capsule if you dare**

* * *

Lance figures he'll need to move sooner or later.

As badly as he wants to move later, much, much later, he's spent more than enough time lying down. He steels himself, inhaling sharply through his nose, and tries again to push himself up. Despite his resolve to move, every fiber of his being screams at him against the pressure he's putting on his arms. He drops back to the ground, complaining with a small groan that fizzles out into a bit of a whine.

 _Okay, never mind about getting up_. Just a little more time.

Just like his cadet days of getting up at balls o'clock in the morning, he decides to try opening his eyes after a failed attempt at moving. He regrets the decision once he discovers that the bright sunlight promptly leads to the shriveling of his eyeballs in his sockets, and it just pushes out another cry from his body. Thinking about the situation he's in, all he can do is give out short pathetic whines.

Actually, thinking about the situation helps to recollect himself. Currently, he is… somewhere. He'll find that out the second he manages enough energy to get out of the pod. He traces his thoughts remembers… the explosion, the alien that helped him escape… and then…

"Shiro!" He bolts up as the epiphany hits, raising himself in one quick, adrenaline-filled go. His body still cries out in pain, but now that he's up, it isn't as bad. His head throbs, though, and he shuts his eyes tightly to wait for it to stop.

When he gets to a point where he's not about to throw up, he looks around. The first thing he takes note of is that he isn't completely disoriented; he really was at the back of the pod, and it appears to Lance like the pod itself didn't have a very safe landing. The opening hatch faces the sky, letting more than enough sunlight in. Supplies that were meant for emergency cases are littered on the floor (the wall, maybe, at this point?) next to Lance. His eyes trail over a med kit, scattered nutrient supplements, his _bayard,_ thank god, and a few other objects written in who knows what.

That was the physical scenario. The actual scenario was much worse. There was no communicator or operable radio on the pod—not one that he could use, read, or see, at least—and he didn't have his helmet or Lion. He couldn't do it in the pod, but he needed to get back to Voltron.

 _Do you?_ The voice that needed to shut up earlier returns, although Lance was hoping he'd concussed himself enough in the fall to have it disappear. _Do they really need you? They said Shiro would be fine, so they didn't need you then, and now they have Shiro, Keith, Allura, Pidge, Hunk… that's five._

Lance chooses to ignore the voice this time, unable to refute or agree with it. It didn't matter right now. His first goal was to get out of the ship and figure out where he was.

He takes a deep breath, and then pushes himself up. He squints at the window. Next to the blinding light is a handle, and the outline of the door is traced against the whites of the pod walls. Lance looks down at the horizontally-positioned chair. It looks fairly comfy, and if Lance had had enough time to sit on it before he was ejected into space at a gajillion miles per hour, he probably wouldn't have been in such bad shape. He put his foot on its side and uses it to raise himself to the ceiling and opening. One hand lunges upwards and grabs the handle with his good arm (or, at least, the arm that wasn't shot by a guard. Then again, with the amount of pain he's in, it's hard to tell either way) and he positions himself for a couple seconds, bracing himself for the pain that would come with exerting himself to open it.

 _Please don't be a poison gas planet, please don't be a poison gas planet, please don't be a poison gas planet,_ Lance repeats in his head in a futile mantra of reassurance. If he had any luck, if god graced him with any luck at all during birth, he begs for it to be this.

Sure enough, he opens the hatch up and takes a long, deep breath. It's now or never. If his lungs would explode or bleed or kill him, just get it over with already—

But it didn't. In fact, it's… fresh.

When he examines his surroundings, it is just as nice as the air. It looks almost like a beach on Earth, except the sand is a lavender and the trees, despite looking as alive as a summer's day, look like coral-colored palm trees with some sort of low-hanging, indigo fruit. The sky is undoubtedly the best sight. It is a clear day, Lance presumes, but the sky has a beautiful gradient from yellow at the horizon breaking off into Earth's sky blue. In place of clouds, Lance can see the outlines of neighboring planets, reflecting something that resembles the rings of Saturn in the distance, and a small mercurial planet a little further into the sky. The sight reflects off the orange-tinted water, and it was... frankly, breathtaking.

And if this planet proves not to kill him for as long as it takes him to get off it, he'll even call it nice.

Looking at the pod's condition is much less appealing in comparison, with black streaks covering the formerly white surface, with dark dents embedded in it and the centers showing the metallic color after the paint was rubbed off. The coordinate pad—or any electricity, really—had been completely decimated by whatever happened during Lance's flight.

With some effort, he pulls himself out of the pod and lands in the sand. The sand does not contain poisonous scorpions that bite his legs off upon impact, nor does he cause a tremor that awakens an alien dinosaur. He walks over to the water and touches it with his pinkie toe. His face is already in a grimace, prepared for it to burn his foot off, but it doesn't. The only downside is that it's rather cold, but even then, it's more of a comfortable cold rather than a freezing cold. With a bit more hope, Lance bends over the surface and splashes some on his face. As painful as it is, it's a necessary evil, as it jolts him awake. He risks a small sip, half to check if it's poisonous, but he does not choke. The water tastes a little tangy, like oranges, but other than that, no reaction. He begins to glean that the planet is safe, but keeps looking for the catch; the ever-prevalent catch that follows him wherever he goes.

It doesn't come.

The water is drinkable even without boiling it, the fruit is edible, the trees are climbable, the air is breathable, the light is bearable, and there are no animals in sight. For once in his life, Lance felt hashtag blessed.

He spends the rest of the first day lying in on the beach, getting as much of a suntan as he can. Just because he's _stuck_ here doesn't mean he can't _enjoy_ it, after all.

He takes a deep breath of the fresh air and looks to the sky for signs of rescue before closing his eyes. He had been through a lot, hadn't he? Just a rest wouldn't hurt. It wasn't even supposed to be a rest, really, he just closed his eyes, made a soft pillow with his arms, and started breathing slowly.

So really, it wasn't his fault the planet was so comfortable.

* * *

It takes two weeks before Lance loses it.

He sits on a deep purple rock next to the water, poking at the orange liquid with a pink tree branch. In his eyes reflect the weariness of a grizzled survivalist as he takes a swig of water out of a bowl-like object he'd made from his pod's debris.

Survival wasn't hard. Conditions were mostly like Earth, so all he had to do was channel his old space cadet days and remember the essentials: he'd built himself a shelter, he could make fires daily, he had drinkable water and edible food, and his bayard and other objects from the ship were more than useful and enough to help him survive. With that, there were no giant monsters. And while that was true, there weren't even small alien monsters with some deadly gimmick out to kill Lance. In fact, there were no aliens at all. No pretty mermaids in the water, or heavenly angels in the sky. He'd settle for a harpy, at this point, if he needed to compromise. But there wasn't anything at all. No way to ask for help, no way to contact anyone. And it wasn't like Lance was a stranger to feeling alone, but here, he really…

"Day fourteen," Lance announces to himself, like a T.V. sitcom he'd once seen. "Still no sign of any ladies. Or people. Or anything other than these stupid rocks—" Against reason, he kicks a rock, but instead of tumbling gently into the water, it turns out to be deeply rooted in the ground with only its surface layer visible, and he howls in pain and collapses into the sand.

Instead of continuing to focus on the throbbing pain in his foot, his arm blocks out a few of the sun's rays as he stares up at the sky above him, empty and clear, as it always is. He looks for a sign of hope, to no avail, and grits his teeth tightly. His arm covers his eyes and blocks the tears that threaten to well up. He takes a halted, quick and shaky breath out, and then another to calm his breathing again.

"Where are you guys…?" Lance asks, to nothing, "I miss you."

Lance isn't sure how long he lies there. Maybe it's a few dobashes, maybe it's a varga, maybe it's a few minutes, maybe it's a few hours. It isn't a losing scenario, anyways, since there's nothing to do one way or another. The only problem is that his cries almost muffle up the whirring of a motor, and it almost passes him by until his eyes snap open and he sits up, stopping to make sure it isn't just the tree branches playing tricks on him. When he realizes that the sound is accompanied by a beeping, he immediately takes off running towards it, bayard in tow.

So what if it might kill him? So what if the ship doesn't look like Voltron's at all? So what if it's not even an ally ship? It's not a Galra ship, and that's what he really cares about. It looks more like a pirate ship and he'd frankly take space pirates over staying on this planet for even a second longer.

Lance is surprised when he sees the ship dock right above his pod, and he sees their tractor beam zone in on it. Lance chases after the ship, waving his hands frantically, yelling and screaming over and over, "Hey! Hey! I'm over here! Help!"

He learns quickly that his pleas fall on deaf ears, and his expression changes to something between anger, desperation, and determination. As fast as his legs take him, he dives not-so-gracefully headfirst into the tractor beam. His momentum comes to a gradual slow and stops near the center, and he's pulled in behind his pod, staring up at the infrared light he's being drawn into.

Although the ascension into the ship is slow and graceful, his arrival is not. Not even at the end of the tractor beam, Lance is suddenly yanked by a rough, lizard-like hand, and he meets two slit eyes and a face befitting the hand. The creature's breath stinks, and Lance can see the saliva dribble off their fangs as they pull Lance close. Instead of addressing Lance, it simply stares him down with an intimidating glare before it looks out into the inside of the ship. Only the portion Lance is standing on has a spotlight under it, and the rest of the ship is shrouded in darkness.

"We picked up a straggler! What do we do with the fresh meat? Throw him out? Eat him?" It shouts.

The person the lizard-man shouts to isn't what Lance expects. Lance hears the click of heels, accompanied by two different pairs of footsteps. When they emerge from the shadow, he sees a Galra and a Nomarian on either side of a beautiful alien girl, who struts—literally _struts_ —into the light. Her skin is a light blue, and her hair rests under a large pirate Captain's hat, two long plumes sticking out and floating elegantly to the side. If Lance hadn't been so terrified, he would've immediately rushed to her and taken her hand, giving her elegant pickup lines.

Instead, he vouches to stay silent as she rolls her eyes and glares at the lizard. "Think for yourself, would'jya?"

When she catches sight of Lance, he catches the surprise that flits on her face for but a mere moment. He grins, wondering what it was—maybe his well-toned muscles, maybe the way he carried himself with swagger—maybe she just knew who _he was,_ the Blue Paladin of Voltron. Then again, that might not have been a good thing with a Galra right next to her. Quickly, her face reverts to the usual confident and haughty demeanor from earlier, and Lance grins. Playing hard-to-get, was she?

Despite his thoughts, she grins up at him while the Lizard puts him down. She walks up to him, and without warning, her hand lashes out and grabs Lance's chin, turning it from side to side as though he's a specimen of some sort. She mutters an analytical, "Human, huh…" while observing him.

Even despite the dangers, Lance can't help but utter a, "I see you've already got an eye for me."

"Can it, Captain Underpants." She replies. In return, Lance's face heats up as he realizes he's probably not the most attractive person in the room. He hadn't showered for two weeks now, he had ditched his Voltron suit in favor of staying cool and is indeed in only his underwear in front of the dazzling, well-dressed woman in front of him.

Although he can think up a few more flirty comebacks, Lance stays silent for the rest of her examination. She pulls back, putting a hand on her hip. She's grinning at him, this time, and Lance can't help but think about how she wears her confidence and looks _hot_. "Before we throw you off, I've gotta know: what's a Milky Way kid like you doing all the way out here?"

"I'm not from the milky way," Lance corrects, still using his suave attitude, "I'm from Earth."

Immediately, the girl looks ten times less impressed. "Earth is _in_ the Milky Way, gago."

Before he can explain how his planet is not related to a chocolate bar in any way, one of the voices in the crowd cut through. "You call your planet _Earth?_ You might as well call it a sack of dirt!"

The crowd of pirates burst out in laughter, with one pitching in, "Isn't Earth made outta _water_ , anyways? What kinda erkflad made up the name of that?!"

They have their fair share of laughing at Lance, with the girl in front of him not taking her eyes off him for a second. Lance isn't sure whether to find it terrifying or hot, because she's smirking, has an eyebrow raised and her arms folded. After a couple more seconds, she shouts, "Zip it!" and although she's not heard at first, she repeats herself, louder, and the ship goes silent.

She looks up at Lance, face spelling out challenge in every way possible. "So, earthling," she says, carefully, "tell me why I shouldn't give you a little love tap on your chest right now and send you flying a few kilometers back down to that island."

Lance's mind immediately switches from flirt to fight. He notices the planet lying behind and below him—the same planet he'd been stuck on for two weeks, and knows he won't survive the fall. He can tell the girl's not bluffing, because everyone looks just as eager to see him prove himself as they do to see him fail.

"I, uh… well, um, I…" He stammers for a second, noticing the Galra staring at him just as intently, and he bites his lip. Nobody on the ship recognizes him, and he can't tell if they were pro-Galra or against them, so he couldn't just announce he was the Paladin of Voltron. There _was_ something that he could improvise, though, and he pulled out his bayard. "I'm… I'm, I mean, I'm a warrior. I'm a fighter. You pirates could always use someone like that, right?"

The girl gave an interested eyebrow raise, if nothing else. "And how are you, a scrawny little kid, a fighter?"

His eyes dart from side to side, observing different memories. Sure, he can think of shooting a few galra ships here and there, but what had he _actually_ done?

 _Are you even a hero?_ The voice says.

 _Not now,_ Lance thinks firmly back at it, if that's possible, but it does the trick.

Still, the girl looks at him expectantly for an answer. He can't think up any of his own stories, though, because all that come to his mind are… the others.

"I was… I was an ace pilot back at flight school," Lance explains, and everyone immediately quiets. "Probably the best. I could outfly anyone. Everyone got mad at me and called me a show off because I was just so good. Then I was abducted by… uh… by Galra warriors. Forced to fight in a Gladiator Ring."

The girl frowns at the mention of abduction. "You got anything against Galra?"

"What?! No! No, of course not! It was just... just a phase of my life, no biggie!" Lance exclaims, trying not to look at the Galra beside the girl. "After all, I won the whole thing, and so people started calling me 'Champion'. The Galra saw I was the strongest warrior, cut my arm off, and…" Lance trails off, realizing that his arm is still very human and intact. He interrupts himself, quickly, to put the story on the right track, "and it grew back real quick! Like, it was just a quick chop. Failed experiment. My arm's fine, as you can see."

All the aliens aboard the ship are silent, and in awe. "I didn't think humans had such regenerative capabilities," the Nomarian next to the girl claims, eyes wide. "And to be here… means you must have escaped the Galra Empire at its strongest time…?"

"Yup! Yup, totally me." Lance replies, responding as confidently as he can.

The aliens all look at him very differently now, and even the girl gives a look of surprise, if not a skeptic one. "What's your name?" She asks.

"The name's Lance," he answers, winking and giving the most refreshing smile he can muster in underwear and two-week stink, "but you might hear me called 'Sharp Shooter'." To add to the old razzle-dazzle, he poses with his bayard, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, and it turns into an assault rifle that surprises the crew. He regrets his bravado shortly after, as pain rips through his bad arm. Even her eyes widen, and she looks at Lance with an approving smirk.

"Well, Lance," she says, "Captain Xandra. You can address me as Captain or Xandra, I don't care. Either way… I don't think our ship has a human, yet. Welcome aboard the D. con."

With that, Xandra turns tail and struts away, shouting commands smoothly, "Larinj, get the kid some clothes. And Qa'ata," she adds, turning to the strong Nomarian who had stood by her side, "show the runt around. You two should get along nice, yeah?"

The Nomarian, Qa'ata, gestures for Lance to follow him, gently and smiling. Lance had taken note of how composed he looked throughout the entire prove-himself ordeal, and sort of gleaned that this guy was probably the most level-headed in the ship. Lance followed him quickly, earning a few pats on the back from other crew members, looking at Lance with different forms of respect, understanding, and pride. It wasn't something he was used to.

As they walk, Qa'ata speaks with a bit of seriousness, but doesn't turn to look at Lance. "I respect you, Lance, but just so things are clear early on, my essence is already intertwined with Xandra." He claims. Lance blinks for a second, unsure of what he means. Qa'ata nods, and glances over. "I think you humans call it… dating. Xandra and I are in a romantic relationship."

Lance looks blankly back at him, before flaring up in embarrassment. "Oh, shoot! No—yeah—of course, sorry!" He exclaims. He wasn't the type of guy to hit on an… _essence intertwined pair_ , much less Qa'ata, who looked about as strong as Shiro—or if nothing else, at least as buff as him. Unlike Shiro, he wore an eye patch above a scar on his right eye, and it was definitely helping his intimidating factor. "No, we're good. I'm not—I wasn't—well, I was, but I—I've already got… well, I already like someone else, so we're all good there."

"Oh, that's good," Qa'ata agrees, blue coat falling behind him as he walks forward, "I wouldn't want us to be on different pages."

"Yeah…" Lance replies for quick reaffirmation and looks away. His thoughts drift to Allura, and wonders where _she_ is right now. Is she worried? Is she looking for him? Or… had she given up?

 _Maybe she didn't care in the first place._ The voice that needs to shut up said, and Lance grows increasingly frustrated at his lack of comeback at it.

His mind wanders to the last thing that traveled over the communicator in his helmet. _We cannot lose you_ , she had said, and he couldn't be sure, but she'd sounded panicked and worried.

 _But how far does her worry go?_ It counters.

 _I thought you were quieter than this,_ Lance complains at it.

Qa'ata stops the voice from speaking any further by stopping in front of a door. "These are your quarters. You'll be sharing it with a bunch of people. I'm in charge of the room itself, just so nothing… erm…" he gives a short sound, reminiscent of a cough, "weird happens during the night. I also make sure things don't get stolen and whatnot, but I can't make too many promises. I'd keep your gun close to your chest." He says, looking down at Lance's bayard. Then, he adds, smiling, "Let's get you some clothes, why don't we?"

Lance thinks about mentioning that he really should be getting back to his friends, and that he'd like their help, but he wasn't about to risk walking the plank yet. He goes along with it, with a short, "Sure." With Lance's approval, Qa'ata opens the door, and on a bed lies an outfit. Qa'ata gives a nod, closing the door, and Lance looks down at it.

From the outside, Qa'ata can hear a few frustrated groans and crashing noises, and sends a few odd glances at the door. In a matter of minutes, Lance slams it open, looking one hundred and ten percent done with the attire, not even allowing the door to close behind him, just staring out in the distance.

"It suits you," Qa'ata compliments. It isn't empty, either. On top of a blue shirt, Lance adorns an army green pirate vest, decorated with adjustable belts along the chest, arms, hips, and hem of the outfit. There are also a couple on his boots, and the gloves suit him, too. The shoulder and knee pads accent strong points, and his pants are tucked nicely into his boots. He wears his outfit much better than others, notably, but it doesn't exactly suit the expression on Lance's face.

Lance huffs, out of fatigue or frustration is unclear, and asks, "Just _why_ do you guys put so many belts on?"

"It fits, doesn't it?" Qa'ata replies.

"It's _impractical_ ," Lance argues back, but straightens anyways. Any outfit feels better than his old shorts, at this point, so he doesn't complain too much. He makes a mental note to burn them while Qa'ata shows the rest of the ship to him.

For the most part, it's an organized sort of chaos. Nothing is obvious to Lance, with flights of asymmetrical stairs upon flights of asymmetrical stairs, unevenly spaced doors, and crooked ceilings and floorboards, but nobody in the ship ever acts lost. When Lance hears someone call to wash the deck, crew members immediately appear, grabbing stray ropes and pulling on them to fly upwards. They all seemed to have a goal in mind, and everyone seemed to know what to do.

The ship is larger than Lance thought, as well. There are pubs and parlors, at least three washrooms on every floor, a holding unit for fighter jets, and he hadn't even touched half the ship. Qa'ata leads Lance to one of the parlors after the tour and orders a drink for him and Lance, sitting to talk with him. At a round, crooked table nearby, a bunch of crew members play some weird variation of space poker that Lance hadn't seen before. Lance drinks while Qa'ata talks.

"So," Qa'ata asks, "what do you think?"

Lance jumps at the question, and shrugs, thumbing a drink. "Oh! Uh, it's… cool. It's really nice around here."

It takes a few seconds of Qa'ata's disbelieving stare, and Lance shies away from the eyebrows of disapproval. It feels like Qa'ata sees right through him, and Lance adds on, "I just miss my old friends."

Qa'ata nods, as he's done many times, to show his understanding. "Earlier, you said you had a girl. Do you miss her? What was she like?"

 _Oh boy,_ Lance says, glancing over at the racks of bottles lined up behind the counter, eyes tracing the various colours and shapes the liquids came in. He looks wistful, even, and takes another swig of his drink. "She was gorgeous. Strong, too. Had a bit of a temper sometimes, too, but she was always mature about everything. I've always been a bit of a loverboy, but…" He exhales through his nose, and his face forms a bit of a pout. "She looked so pretty when she was in love, but… it's bitter. I really thought she was something else… and she _was_ , but… I guess she just needed something more than me."

"Doubt that," Qa'ata answered after a few seconds, but he didn't know the whole story. Qa'ata places his cup down. "What about your other friends?"

Lance smiled a little at the memory. "Pidge's this small human. Former classmate at the flight academy. She's super smart, like you wouldn't believe. Then there's Hunk, and he's been with me through thick and thin… for better or for worse on his part, I guess. I'm probably a bit of a handful, frankly..." He slams his drink down on the table, and some of the liquid spills out and onto the table. "But yanno who's a real handful? Keith Kogane, that son of a quiznack! He's this—this half-human, half-galra guy, and he's constantly leaving us for whatever the reason. He's a good leader, gosh darn it, but… he didn't want to lead, and now he does… sorta? I don't know. I don't even know how he's like right now, and I'm worried out of my _mind_ over this guy, even though he's super strong and he's… he's like, everything I'm not, but... he's also just… insane!"

Qa'ata laughs in response. "Sounds like you care about this guy more than the other girl."

"It's cause he's annoying! He makes me so angry!" Lance retorts. In his best mocking voice, he adds, "I'm Keith Kogane. I'm so cool and edgy. Look at me, now I'm a Blade of Marmora guy going solo because who needs a team anyways, hoo hoo, Shiro, Shiro, Shiro, blah blah blah, I was worried about Shiro too—and I know he has more reason to worry, but there's no need to go and run yourself _dry_ for the guy, be all self-destructive and… at least he figured out who he was, or whatever, but still!" Lance petulantly frowns, raising his lower lip and furrowing his eyebrows, darting his head away in anger.

As he looks away though, he feels a strong tap on his arm. He turns to look and makes eye contact with seven eyes, looking at him as sympathetically as a seven-eyed alien can. "Hey, Sharpshooter, listen up! You know what you do in situations like these?" They ask, raising a glass. "You drink it away!"

In Lance's head, he can almost imagine a musical number breaking out as every alien raises their class with a hearty, "Aye!" and down their drinks, but doesn't realize until halfway through that he's one of them. At some point, his mouth is just moving, and he's walking and chatting up prettier shipmates, then he's talking about Voltron and everyone (though he doesn't remember talking about Voltron itself), and people are making fun of him the same way they always do. Calling him melodramatic and princess, and a bunch of other things, but it lacks the usual bite. The night goes on, and when he looks back at the table in front of him, there are five empty cups—or maybe that's four? Whatever, he was awful at counting anyways.

"Leave the math to Pidge," Lance drawled in a sing-song tone, head on the table, cup in hand. A bunch of aliens were lying on the floor, sprawled across chairs and tables. "After all, it's not like _I'm_ a genius hacker, or great engineer, or know anything about alchemy…"

"You're a real lightweight, kid," one of the aliens say, laughing and jabbing him teasingly. They rub Lance's head furiously, and he really wishes they'd stop, because he isn't really liking the way the room spins around him anymore. The alien continues, "at least know if you ever return to your friends, you'll be good at one thing: figuring out which gurgleshneckles mix with plegnorbs!" He announces, pouring an orange liquid into a purple liquid and downing it, burping up little rainbow bubbles.

"I'm not good at anything," Lance complains, "or… I am, but I'm not the best. If they want something done, they can always go to someone else. I… they don't need me, they'll be fine… they've got Shiro, and Keith, and Allura, and Pidge, and Hunk…"

Qa'ata pats him on the back, and Lance had admittedly forgotten he was still there up until that point. "You're a good guy, Lance. Let's get you back up to—"

"You don't need 'em!" A voice shouts, raising their fist but not their head from the table, "Forget those guys!"

Their chants are joined in by a bunch of others, raising their hands in unison. One hugs Lance, and another nearly topples him, and quite a few others join him too. It's a little suffocating, to be honest, but Lance doesn't feel unwelcome. He just feels a little… reminiscent. Like when he had gone home, to Earth, and his nephew and niece would…

"You don't need a bunch of losers who don't need'jya," one of the aliens say, "we've gotcha now! You're part of _our_ family!"

Through Lance's hazy vision, whether it's from whatever was in those drinks or the tears that had been brimming in his eyes, he sees a familiar figure look over at him from the doorframe. He catches indigo lips in a small smirk, and closer to him, he sees Qa'ata looking over at the figure, shrugging. Before he can make out what it means, or decipher it, Lance closes his eyes.

"Yeah, family." Lance says, raising the glass to his lips once more, but he doesn't recall actually drinking it before gravity gives up on him and he can't exactly tell if he's standing, but he feels strong arms in front of him, holding him, and he closes his eyes to end the night.

* * *

 **As you can tell, this story is Lance-centric, but as a social person, I couldn't leave him isolated forever. It's a solo-series because it refers to Lance having an adventure without the members of Voltron, like how Keith was, and I thought pirates would be the coolest. Firstly, there's Lance's ties to the Blue Lion and water/ice, then there's the way of 'no plan, pirate do as pirate please' in fun improv, and the entertaining but savage sense of camaraderie aboard the ship.**

 **That being said, I don't think Lance is very OOC-right now, he's away from his friends and even further from his family. He's used to there being some way to communicate with them, or a time where they miraculously find him, but there isn't. Isolation probably didn't do wonders for him, either. So now he's stuck on a dangerous ship, lightyears away from Voltron, while nobody came for him, and still trying to make do with what he's got. He's kind of trying to cope with his lost 'family' by creating this temporary replacement, even if he doesn't realize it. If you disagree, though, please comment or contact me at my tumblr (smallshadowybirds).**

 **On another note, get ready for the widest assortment of alien cast since Star Wars; some that you've seen, some that you haven't. There'll be a lot of aliens popping up throughout the story, but only two that are actually significant (guess who).**

 **#SSB**


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